The Anti-Prom - By Abby McDonald Page 0,18
me together anymore.
It’s funny, to think I could crave more space. After all, I have nothing but distance around me all day long — a silent kind of force field hovering as I wander the faded linoleum hallways. But that’s different. That kind of distance diminishes me, slowly sapping my strength away. Out here, with the radio playing loud enough to drown everything but a beat or a soaring melody, I feel most like myself. There’s this one song that gets it just right, a guy singing about a dark windless night, and how a song can just surround you, punching right through your mind, pumping in your blood. Moments like that, I feel as though everything gets stripped away — school, Mom, all that endless work for grades and application essays — and there’s nothing left but the core of who I am, so I can finally know myself. Like myself, even.
Eventually, as always, the road runs out, and I take the familiar exit and turn toward the college campus. I’ve been out to Brooks a few times before to use the library for research projects, so I save myself the embarrassment of getting lost in the crisscrossing sprawl of buildings that radiates from the old main core. Slowing to avoid the students who see jaywalking as their God-given right, I make my way to the front quad, a neat patch of grass framed by three small red-brick buildings — long since dwarfed by the new concrete sports complex and gleaming academic hubs.
“So,” I say, turning off the engine while they collect purses and pull their shoes back on. “I guess I’ll just wait here for you?”
Jolene nods, already reaching for the door handle. “We shouldn’t be long. Which dorm is this guy in, anyway?”
“Ummm . . .” Bliss sounds less than certain. “I can’t really remember.”
“You’re kidding.”
But she’s not. Bliss shrugs. “I’ve never really paid attention to the directions, I just followed Kaitlin. . . .” She screws up her face, deep in thought. “His dorm is big, I guess, with a whole load of vending machines in the lobby. I’ll know it when I see it.”
“You’d better get out,” Jolene says to me. “This one’s completely helpless.”
I look down at my floor-length black satin gown. “It’s OK. I’m not really dressed for —”
“You look fine,” Jolene interrupts. “Better than I do, anyway.” She plucks at a ruffle with disdain. I decide not to argue, and soon we’re all standing in front of the quad, surveying the campus. It’s getting dark out, but there are floodlights fixed on the side of every building, and every pathway is bathed in a bright glow. “So how many dorms are in this place?” Jolene asks, a note of resignation in her voice.
“Fifteen, maybe?” I carefully hold my skirt off the dusty asphalt.
“And you really can’t remember a thing?”
“Sorry!” Bliss beams at us, obviously forgetting for a moment who she’s pulling her sweet and innocent act with. The smile slips. “We’ll find him eventually. We’ll just have to ask around.”
“Or we could look him up in the student directory?” I suggest.
They both turn to me.
“You know, the online catalog of every student and their room number?” It seems obvious to me, but Bliss’s face lights up as if I’ve just suggested a miracle.
“Genius! See, I knew you’d be great at this.”
“Not so fast,” I say quickly, before she gets too carried away with false praise. “It’s for students only. We need somebody else to log us in.”
“No problem.” She grins. “Just point me in the right direction.”
Helpless. She calls me helpless, and then I can’t even remember where we’re going. Way to go, Bliss — striking a blow for popular-girl stereotypes everywhere.
I follow the others across campus, trying to ignore my flush of embarrassment. It’s not that I’m so bad with directions — fine, maybe just a little — but the truth is, Jolene’s right. I never once stopped to notice where Jason’s dorm is, or how to get there. I was always with Kaitlin or one of the other girls, and they just called ahead and had one of the guys meet us by the main gates. I never saw the point in wandering aimlessly around when there were tons of cute boys willing to point the way. But what’s so wrong about that? Not everyone needs to possess every ounce of human knowledge to survive. I mean, that’s what Google is for.
“Where are we going, anyway?” I ask, walking faster